


Voicemail

by kingwithana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Broken Bucky Barnes, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, One Shot, Reader-Insert, Sort Of, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingwithana/pseuds/kingwithana
Summary: After you moved away from New York to escape the memories of a broken relationship, Bucky still finds a way to haunt you.





	Voicemail

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I had this particular One-Shot sitting in my folder of finished stories for ages now. I originally wrote this in German and decided to finally translate this with my aMaZiNg English skills, but since I'm still not really used to actually write in English I'm kind of anxious about this one lol.  
> If you find any weird sentence structures, mistakes or anything, PLEASE let me know!  
> Alright that's it for now, Viel Spaß!

**[2. 45 am]**  
**[1 New Voicemail: unknown number]**

_Heeeey, what’s up! It’s me! Bucky. Buck. Big Pal Buck. Good ‘ol Bucky!_

_I, uh … I know that it’s been a long time since you, ah … you know, heard something from me.  
I don’t know, I, ah … so, I was at this bar. And, uh, Steve just accompanied me back home because I couldn’t walk a straight line. Y’know, I was really drunk. Like, really, really drunk!_

_Ah, anyways … I asked Steve if it was a good idea to call you. He got really mad at me for asking that, I tell you! Steve and pissed off at me, seems almost impossible, huh?_

_So, uh, anyways … he said … he said that it was stupid. I’ve no idea if he meant the idea or me. But now he’s gone, and I’m sitting in the kitchen and I just thought to myself … it’s actually not a bad idea._

_Is it really that long ago, that you … heard from me?_  
_I … I can’t remember right now._  
_No, no, wait- that sounded really shitty, didn’t it?_  
_Damn it, it sounded shitty. I … I’m sorry._

_I really can’t remember right now, but only because I’m feeling so goddamn sick, believe me. If I don’t feel sick, then … then I remember. Always._

_God, I was a real asshole back then, wasn’t I? Sometimes … uh, sometimes Sam calls me asshole, y’know, just for fun. But he’s right. I’m an asshole._

_Are you even listening up to this point? I bore you, don’t I? I bore you._  
_But you know what?_  
_You never bored me. Never._  
_I miss you. You don’t even know how much I miss you. I think so much about you, I just … I just can’t stop. But then I remember that I’m an asshole. And you … you don’t deserve an asshole. You deserve only the best. The absolute best._

_And I … I’d be happy if you find someone. Someone who makes you happy. Someone who deserves you. All of you. Honestly. Even if … ah, y’know. My heart … zoom, crash, boom, ow._

_But I’d be happy for you. Honestly, I’d be so fucking happy. But … I just miss you so, so, so goddamn much, doll._

_Is it too late to say sorry? I’m way too late, aren’t I?  
I …. Damn it. I still love you, and I miss you, so please call me back. Please. Tell me that you’re alright and that … that you’re happy. You don’t have to forgive me. I can’t even forgive myself. How are you supposed to forgive me then?_

_I just … want to hear your voice again. For one last time._  
_Please. I miss you._  
_I’m so sorry._

**[Voicemail deleted]**

***

**[1. 24 am]**  
**[1 New Voicemail: unknown number]**

_Heeeey there … what’s up?_

_Eh, so … can you- can you hear me?  
It’s really loud in here, the club is so loud. I mean, I’m standing in front of it and it’s loud._

_Did you … listen to my last message? I’m sorry that it came so late in the night. I hope you were asleep when it came. And I hope that you’re asleep when I send this one, too.  
I … I can’t sleep that well lately._

_I, uh, I told Steve and Sam that I called you the other night. I told them today. Sam said something about … uh, something about ten months._  
_Ten months?_  
_Is it really already … ten months ago?_

_It’s so ironic, because I think about it over and over and over again, and I still didn’t even notice that it’s already been ten months. Time … is a construct anyway.  
I, uh- I don’t know why I just said the last part. God, I talk so much shit, I’m so sorry. You probably don’t even want to hear that._

_Listen, uh- what I wanted to tell you. I … I miss you. And I think about you. So much. So often. And we, I mean, the boys and I … right now, we are in this club. Y’know, when we were … I mean, before we were … together. That one club where we, you know. The kiss. And I … I had to think about it when I was on the dancefloor._

_Ten months.  
Y’know, if I wasn’t this stupid, then maybe you’d be here right now. With me. Next to me. And you would take my hand. And then … then we’d both remember. We’d remember this bad song and this first kiss and … everything that came after that. I … damn it. _

_I’m so fucking sorry, doll._  
_Is it even possible to forgive someone like me?_  
_But you should know that I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for everything._

_I’m so sorry that ten months already passed. I should’ve … I should’ve called earlier. And … I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you. I … goddamn it._  
_Uh, so what I wanted to say- damn it._  
_It was never my intention to hurt you. Never. I always just wanted the best for you. But I fucked up. I fucked up endlessly._

_I miss you. I love you. And even if … if you can’t forgive me, please. Please, call me. Or … or text me. Please. Anything. I need to know if you’re alright. Please._

_Please._

**[Voicemail saved]**

***

**[11. 04 pm]**  
**[1 New Voicemail: B]**

_Hey.  
Uh … how should I start? Damn it._

_Did you listen to the last voicemails?  
I’m sorry that I’m spamming you so much with that. But you didn’t call me back, and I just want to … make sure that you’re alright._

_So, uh, well, please don’t think that I’m a stalker or something like that. But you … you blocked me on Instagram. And on all other social media platforms. Which is understandable, honestly. But, uh … wow, it’s really embarrassing to admit that, but I looked at your profile through Sam’s account. Y’know, secretly. Because I know the code to his phone._

_And you’re … you’re back in New York, aren’t you?_  
_I … I’m happy about that. Even if I can’t see you._  
_And I was going through the pictures that I didn’t see ever since … ever since, you know. And there was this one picture. And on this picture … is that- is that your boyfriend?_

_God, I know that I won’t get an answer. But … is he?_  
_You- You looked really happy. With him. And you know that I wish you the best. And if he makes you happy … then I’m happy too. Even if it’s hard. So hard. But I will try to be happy … for you. That’s the least that I can do for you now, after all._  
_Letting you go._

_I- I have no idea why I just said that. I have no idea why I’m telling you all of this. I’m sorry._

_I know that I made a huge fucking mistake. And I know that I can’t turn back time and undo it. But I wish I could. But I can’t. And I can’t forgive myself. And if I can’t even forgive myself, how am I supposed to let you go?_

_Why did I hurt you so damn much after you trusted me so damn much?  
I promised you, I fucking promised you to never hurt you. But still … I was still so stupid._

_Maybe it’s good that you don’t answer. It’s better this way. I don’t deserve you.  
Nobody does._

**[Voicemail saved]**

***

_2\. 55 am._  
_Ten months. The eleventh month was approaching._

You made your way through the moving crowd on the dancefloor – your phone clutched in one hand; the other hand extended in front of you to shove your way through the people.  
It was incredibly hot and stuffy – the heat was merciless. Even though the club you were currently in was supposedly air-conditioned, you sweated so much that your hair stuck to your brow. 

You made a beeline through the dancing crowd with a few mumbled excuses that got lost in the booming bass of the music anyway. Your friends, who had convinced you to come to this godforsaken club in the first place, were somewhere at the bar. You had abandoned them with a poor excuse.

Firstly, because you felt really, _really_ sick. Secondly, because you thought you had seen someone very specific out of the corner of your eye. Someone that you desperately tried to forget.

With a bit too much violence you opened the door of the restroom and ran – with your eyes glued to your own moving feet – to the first free cabin that you detected. With slightly shaking hands you locked the door behind you and sat down on the closed toilet-seat. Your legs trembled and bounced nervously up and down.

“For fuck’s sake”, you mumbled under your breath while you propped your elbows on your knees and rubbed your forehead with your free hand.

New York wasn’t good for you. New York was good for _nobody_.

But it would have been heartless if you had simply stopped to visit your family – they had asked repeatedly if you would visit them soon. And your answer was always the same: _Yes, as soon as I have the time_. You had given them this answer for ten months now, since you didn’t want to tell them the actual reason why you avoided your hometown like the plague.

So, you had given them a poor lie instead of the actual reason. You told them that you had so much work-related stress in San Francisco and you told them that you would visit them, as soon as you had some free-time.  
In reality, you had dreaded for ten months to come back to your hometown because there, all these memories were so present. So close. So _real_.

San Francisco was different. There, you had your little apartment. There, you were able to see the endless seeming vastness of skyscrapers out of your big window in the bedroom. There, you could listen to the never-ending noise of cars at night, when you were unable to fall asleep in the big bed of your room.

San Francisco was lonely. For you at least. And you needed to be lonely. You _wanted_ to be lonely. 

Your friends had barely noticed what had happened between Bucky and you. You wanted to keep all of this a secret, but sadly you weren’t able to completely hide the fact that your relationship of four years had ended suddenly.  
You had told your friends a washed down lie of what really had happened – the real reason was kept to yourself.  
For one, because you didn’t want to be painted as a victim of this situation. And because you didn’t want to paint him in a bad light.

Yes, even after he cheated on you, you still had enough love for him in your heart to not make him appear like a complete asshole.  
The relationship was over. That was everything that the people had to know. _How_ the relationship had come to an end was a thing between Bucky and you. And _you_ wanted to get over this mess as fast as you possibly could.

For you, the easiest way to get over this was to move. You had moved to the other side of the country _just_ to get away from the shattered relationship, from the memories and especially from _him_. 

Truthfully, the loneliness of San Francisco was like medicine. You didn’t know many people – apart from the people you worked with – and you especially didn’t have any friends there. Socializing wasn’t the goal – your goal was to heal, to forget, to move on.  
Your goal was to move back to New York someday, back to your friends and your family, without ever thinking of these bad memories that the city carried for you. 

Even if New York wasn’t really the city of your dreams per se – you never felt real homesickness when you were in San Francisco. But since your family lived in New York, you weren’t able to avoid it for your whole life. 

Now that you were back in your hometown, you felt homesick for San Francisco instead. You missed the distance from the broken relationship and the assurance that you couldn’t meet him randomly at any point.

His voicemails had thrown you off anyway – and now you were so far that you were getting paranoid on a night out with your friends. You had thought that you had seen him – like a ghost that was haunting you, or a bad omen that was following your every step.  
How were you supposed to enjoy your time here when your brain tricked you into thinking that Bucky could be just around the corner?

A sigh escaped your lips and echoed in the small, isolated toilet room. You unlocked your phone and almost instinctively you went to the two saved voicemails that you had received in the span of the last two weeks.  
You wondered what had changed his mind after ten months to send you not one, but _three_ voicemails.

When you had listened to the first one, the only thing you had felt was anger. It wasn’t caused by any particular thing he had said – but more so by the fact that he had the balls to contact you after _ten goddamn months_. You actually had hoped that he had deleted your number after you had blocked him on every social media platform. But he seemingly wasn’t able to delete it.

Your anger transformed into a form pity when you had listened to the second voicemail. His voice choked with tears and the open despair about missing you had touched something in your heart.  
Something that you had really tried to suppress over the last ten months.

Lastly, the third voicemail had transformed your pity in sadness. A kind of sadness that sat deep within the pit of your stomach and made you sick whenever you thought about him. A kind of sadness that made you feel dizzy and longing for something that was long gone.  
Ever since the third voicemail you caught yourself thinking about him and your time spent together more often. _Before_ he had made this stupid mistake.

You had started to play the voicemails more often.  
At night, when the loud noise of the cars wasn’t enough anymore and you couldn’t fall asleep in the loneliness of your small apartment, it was Bucky’s drunk voice that filled your room. And you had caught yourself missing him – after ten goddamn months.  
The eleventh month was approaching, and you wouldn’t experience it without thinking about James Buchanan Barnes.  
Your mission to heal, to move on and to forget him had failed.  
You hated yourself for that. Not him. _Yourself_.

With the back of your hand you wiped away the tears that were gathering at the corners of your eyes. You stood up from the toilet-seat and shoved your phone in the back-pocket of your jeans before you unlocked the door.

You stepped in front of a sink that wasn’t occupied – at the one next to you a small group of friends was gathering and chatting along happily.  
Through the closed door of the restroom the heavy bass of the music still found its way inside.  
All the voices in the restroom and the heaviness of the music merged to one collective, loud noise that filled your head and chest with a hammering noise. You felt your heart beating along to the beat – the voices overshadowing your own small voice in your head while you looked at yourself in the mirror in front of you.

You washed your hands and then splashed a bit of the cold water in your face. Then, you gripped the sides of the sink with both hands while you let your head hang between your shoulders. With firmly closed eyes you took a deep breath – you tried to repress the mental image of Bucky that started to manifest in front of your inner eye.

When you opened your eyes again you could see him though – with his dark, tousled hair and the loose strands that fell into his face. The small wrinkles around his eyes when he laughed and the warm, ocean-blue eyes.  
When you lifted your head and looked your own tired reflection in the eyes, you could see him in front of you – his face a pain-ridden grimace, his eyes filled with tears. With messy hair and slightly parted lips, while he shook his head and repeated over and over again that he could explain everything, and that it wasn’t what it looked like. You could hear his choked-up voice so clearly in your head that you thought for a moment that he was right here – right next to you.

You wanted to punch your own reflection in the face.  
For trusting Bucky. For missing him and for not being able to move on, even after you moved to the other side of the country. For saving his stupid voicemails and for saving his number back into your phone.  
You saw the memory of him dancing with you in this very club, kissing you for the first time. And then you saw the memory of him grabbing your wrist after you had thrown his phone against his chest, pleading to you not to leave him, lips trembling and hands shaking.

The mental image of the person that you had once loved blended with the image of the person that you desperately tried so hard to forget.  
You hated yourself for all these feelings.

You let go of the sink and stumbled backwards before you ultimately left the restroom, your eyes once again glued to your feet.  
The stench of cigarettes and alcohol hit you like a fist in the face and your thoughts immediately wandered back to him.

Home. You just wanted to go home. You wanted to go back to your small apartment, to bury your face into your pillow and to listen to the never-ending stream of noises of cars until you fell asleep.  
You didn’t want to be in this club anymore, where everything had started almost five years ago. You didn’t want to see ghosts that haunted you in your own head.

Just as you wanted to move your way through the dancing crowd to the bar, someone grabbed your wrist.

The sudden contact made you jump – you turned your head, your eyes wide-open, and for a moment you thought that the ghost that haunted you had escaped your head.

Your whole body stiffened immediately, and you didn’t even have the energy to react to his sudden touch, to withdraw your arm from his rough hand that you knew so well.  
Instead, you looked up at him – he was staring at you, a deep frown gracing his features, his jaw clenched, and his eyes surrounded by dark circles. His usually ocean-blue, clear eyes looked clouded and dark in the dimmed light of the club. The colorful lights of the dancefloor reflected in his dark hair and danced in his eyes. 

He looked just like in your memory – with the exception that right now, he looked tired and drained.

“Let me go”, you mechanically and almost instinctively spoke up, but you were doubting that he even heard what you had said though the booming music.  
Bucky licked his lips and nodded his head, then the tight grip around your wrist disappeared. Your body was still so stiff that you couldn’t move your arm away anyway. 

You simply stared up at him and into these goddamn blue eyes. Their expression burned into your mind and bones permanently. You wanted to throw your arms around his neck, right here and right now. Bury your face in the familiar crook of his neck and inhale his scent. But the rational part of your brain told you that this would only fuel your self-hatred.

“Please”, you heard him say over the loudly blasting music. “Please, let me talk to you. Please, let me explain.”

Your eyes burned. The lump in your throat prevented you from saying anything.  
Bucky looked at you with a pleading expression in his eyes – he made a small, cautious step towards you and extended his hand.  
Your eyes simply dropped to his hand, still unable to say a word.

You thought about the way his lips felt against your own.  
You thought of the things that he had texted the other woman.  
You thought about how he had thrown away a relationship of four years.

Immediately, your jaw clenched, and your expression hardened. The rational part of your brain now took control over your body. For one last time, you looked up and met his desperate gaze. You tried to memorize every little detail of his face – from the strands of hair falling into his eyes to the light stubble that now graced his features.

Then, you turned around and disappeared in the crowd on the dancefloor, leaving Bucky behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Come & say hi to me on my [tumblr](https://kireja.tumblr.com) !


End file.
